So after FFP and I figured out how to share this, because I am a bit share illiterate, and we are staring at our screens wondering where the ‘reblog’ button went…I am giving this a go…

If you are so inclined, click on this. I thought it was a gorgeous piece. And by piece, I mean the poem, as lovely as the artwork is.
LOVE it FFP!

(Also, I love that it’s not on Valentine’s Day).

Enigmas like this Don’t come ’round every bend: How best he be told, (In language aptly bold) Of the love, The constant LOVE I have for the storm of him? My impassions brimmed, I aim at words to tell it all, Make other love-claimers ashamed, Inadequate– Though even my claim is not Commensurate To the […]

I’m the man in the iron cage, the pilgrim with an unrepentant, unyielding heart, the prophet who has regressed into a poet with anguish breaking through bone, and then skin, the tendrils tying my tongue, muting my real howl and creating a soft shriek which they consider beautiful. I’m the Kierkegaardian stereotype, a freak tortured and tormented by his panoramic paranoia, a twisted, fucked up birds eye view of skulls and enemies, of corpses punching keys and hate, and I can’t see a horizon. I’m the label of everyone’s disgust, an animal in an asylum which sensibly speaks, but in alliteration—the zookeeper’s delight. “Look now, here’s Mr. Bipolar. Hysterically jump or flat line, it’s your prerogative, but make sure you entertain, because they’ve paid with their time and energy. Be Quick!” But the more I rattle, the more they rile. The more I lie, the more they cry, until I…

It’s that time of the year when many of the streets in Adelaide are coloured purple.

As the flowers fall the streets below are carpeted in purple. Simply stunning, the flowering jacaranda is known by students to be the harbinger for end of year exams.

Jacaranda mimosifolia, if grown from seed, can take anywhere from seven to fourteen years before it flowers. For a jacaranda tree to be considered ‘mature’ it is probably twenty years old. They can live up to 75 years and grow as tall as 50 feet.

Interestingly, the jacaranda is not native to Australia. They found their way here from Brazil. However, our climate seems to suit them very well as they thrive here.

Let your eyes feast on the beauty of nature. It feeds the Soul.

And for something a little different…if you’re interested in some dry commentary along a particular bus route in London, (of course you are), as well as not bus route related material, check this out. (Er this post is not bus related, but this series of events will truly grip you. 😁)

I thought I would share an interesting email recently received. I really think that my luck may have eventually changed.

Sir/Madam,

Goodday for today,bearing in mind the nature of the content of this letter coming from a person without any referral, I apologize for any inconvenience, but please read and objectively consider if we can work this together.

I am Razali Nizam, an attorney at law. A deceased client of mine who died as a result of high blood pressure (H.B.P) on the 30th November 2006, because he lost his wife and the only daughter in the 2004 tsunamis natural disaster while on holiday in Aceh, Indonesia.

I have contacted you to assist in distributing the money left behind by my client before it is confiscated or declared unserviceable by the bank when this deposit valued at $15.5million dollars is lodged. This bank has issued me a notice to contact…

Let me bring you love from a meadow’s velvet floor; where the grass ripples from a summer’s breath and the bright flowers of purple and gold dance on its gentle wave. Their perfume glides through your childhood memories and heals your wounds.

Let me bring you love from a winter’s night; where the pale moon hangs suspended in a frosted glass sky and the twitching skeletons of lifeless Maples cast bewitching images onto the frozen white canvas.

Let me bring you love from a low fire at midnight; with you safely tucked beneath my blanket and the soft light of the last dying embers dancing smoothly in your eyes, removing all resistance.

Let me bring you love from my last heartbeat…my last breath…my last kiss.

Let me bring you love until my last heartbeat…my last breath…my last kiss.

she puts her black dress on
in the dark,
anxious nails red and messy
in their early-morning artistry.
he left the candle burning
in the winter window –
vanilla and cinnamon
on a Sunday evening,
tears and vodka
on a Monday morning.
last week’s relief
breathes
into tonight’s regrets,
but the shadowy smear
on the glass
is all that is left of him.

This piece is also inspired Bjorn’s prompt at Toads. The photo above is from Banksy. In 2010, Banksy did another version of his Balloon Girl with a monochrome child, spray-painted on the wall of a private house in Bevois Valley, Southampton, England.

If you need a little light right now…
A gorgeous read, thanks Timere 😊

(Edit, Dec, 2017. With heaviness of heart I must add now, that the admins of this blog have simply disappeared from the blogosphere, without a trace. But this post is lovely, and I live in hope that Timere is safe and well!)

I was sitting in the park after work yesterday, reading a book and enjoying the weather, when an older couple came toddling up. They were so adorable. They were holding hands and giggling together. He asked if they could share the bench with me and I said, “Absolutely” figuring they wanted to rest for a bit then toddle on. He took out his kerchief and dusted off the bench for her to sit down. What a gentleman!

Honestly, watching this couple (out of the corner of my eye so as not to appear creepy or stalkery) was like watching to grey haired, wrinkly teenagers in love. No, they didn’t grope each other or me. As they sat there, I just couldn’t help myself, I had to ask “How long have you been married?” She looked at me with a huge smile and said, “We married the day he got home…

This haunting cover of Duran Duran’s Ordinary World vibrated through my bones this morning like it contained secret messages about the world, about my life,that I was meant to decode. Messages of haunting sadness, things lost, inner strength found. What did this stir for you?

Ordinary World

Came in from a rainy Thursday on the avenue
Thought I heard you talking softly.
I turned on the lights, the TV and the radio
Still I can’t escape the ghost of you

What has happened to it all?
Crazy, some’d say,
Where is the life that I recognize?
Gone away

But I won’t cry for yesterday, there’s an ordinary world,
Somehow I have to find.
And as I try to make my way, to the ordinary world
I will learn to survive.

Passion or coincidence once prompted you to say
“Pride will tear us both apart” Well now pride’s gone out the…